


all the world's a stage

by lycheees



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Genei Ryodan | Phantom Troupe Member Kurapika, M/M, WAIT THERE'S A TAG FOR IT?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycheees/pseuds/lycheees
Summary: It was all a farce. Even now, as he made space for Chrollo to sit behind him, back pressed up against a warm, bare chest. He pretended to sink back into the firm body, pretended that the breath against his neck tickled, and if his shoulders slumped too comfortably and his hand began absently tracing the Spider on Chrollo’s arm, it was all an act, too.
Relationships: Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Comments: 18
Kudos: 160





	all the world's a stage

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6: Tattoo
> 
> I'm thinking of just posting all my KuroKuratober stuff individually lol

“You’re too nervous,” Machi chided, laying a gentle hand on Kurapika’s shoulder. Kurapika nearly jumped at the contact, despite years of having had her treat his wounds. Although she wore the usual coolness on her face, the light reflected in her eyes was gentle, as was the squeeze of her fingers on his shoulders. If there was one Spider Kurapika almost felt bad for, it was her.

He’d been the one to kill Pakunoda during an earlier staged heist, after all.

To the rest of the Troupe however, he’d been a “saviour” for managing to get Kortopi out of the room where the bomb had set off.

Kurapika took a deep breath, nodding. “Sorry, I just—”

“Have a weird thing about spiders, even though you’ve been an honorary member of the Troupe for a while now?” Shizuku asked.

Against his better judgment, Kurapika felt a part of his heart warm at her words. However, it was soon buried out by the anger that followed, the anger that was never far behind, burning blue and bright until there was no longer _warmth_ , just searing hot hatred.

Despite all that, Kurapika’s outward countenance remained unchanged, polite and grateful even. He was proud of the way his laugh came out, unstrained. “You’re right. I’m overthinking it.”

“You don’t have to get it if you don’t want to.”

Kurapika turned to the new voice. “No! I’ll—” Suddenly, he was met with a mouthful of fur, and tore the coat away from his face to cough some of it back out.

“How cruel. I just had it dry-cleaned,” Chrollo teased. Kurapika rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his body had relaxed without permission when the scent of Chrollo’s cologne punctuated his senses. Instead, he turned to look at the unfamiliar woman standing next to him, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Kurapika could relate. “This, by the way, is the tattoo artist from Meteor City. She’s the one we commission every time we need to officiate the addition of a new member.”

The lady was mean-looking but pretty, a lit cigarette between her lips and gloved hands fiddling with her tools and lighter. Her entire sleeve was covered with roses, swords and dragons, yet the chaos came together beautifully in an artistic amalgamation, leaving Kurapika more than impressed.

“You’re the one I’m doing today?” the artist said, loud and clear despite the stick between her teeth. The perpetually pissed off look, the double black of her hair and eyes, and although she was slightly taller, the connection still had Kurapika’s eyes widening and flitting from her to Feitan, whose expression could be described as unamused, at best. The corner of the artist’s lips quirked just the slightest. “So, you’ve figured it out. I’m Feiqing. Now get comfortable, or don’t. I don’t have all day.”

Obediently, Kurapika shifted and wiggled until he found the right position. He clung to Chrollo’s coat, and no one batted an eyelash. Not that he expected them to — he’d been dating their boss for a good few years or so now. He’d kept up the pretence of a half-hot, half-cold lover, even rejected Chrollo the first time he’d offered him a position in the Troupe. It had taken a great amount of willpower, considering all he’d ever wanted was to massacre them on the spot.

It was all a farce. Even now, as he made space for Chrollo to sit behind him, back pressed up against a warm, bare chest. He pretended to sink back into the firm body, pretended that the breath against his neck tickled, and if his shoulders slumped too comfortably and his hand began absently tracing the Spider on Chrollo’s arm, it was all an act, too.

An act that would one day end on a bloody high note.

Kurapika had his right hand outstretched, letting Feiqing do her work. The pain of the needle on the back of his hand was minute, even as it hit bone and tendon. Uvogin’s bone-breaking punch had been a tad more painful. At the memory of his very first kill, his eyes darted to Shalnark, who was somewhere in the corner playing games with Phinks and Feitan. He’d always spoken about Uvogin with fondness, and more so guilt.

 _I could make use of that,_ Kurapika thought, not without conscience.

Chrollo’s one arm was around Kurapika’s middle, holding him close, while the other held open a novel he’d stolen from the library last week. Kurapika read along every now and then. This was just like their regular quiet reading sessions, the ones where Kurapika decided were a good way to earn the man’s trust and lower his defences. He deemed them successful, judging from the way Chrollo would play with his hair and face when he was half-asleep. Or Chrollo would bury his nose against Kurapika’s temple, quietly drinking in his scent.

If Kurapika chose to lean into the touch, it would be nothing more than an act.

After a few hours of staying still, almost falling asleep in fact, Kurapika felt pins and needles seize his hand as he was finally let go. He shook the dead limb to try and wake it up, his heart lurching with disgust and shame as he observed the spider with twelve legs on the back of his right hand, the number _4_ printed in white against it — a parting gift from Hisoka. Its silhouette was dyed in a glowing red, but it was overall a job well done.

Too well done.

“Pretty,” Chrollo commented, picking up his hand to examine the artwork. He kissed Kurapika’s knuckles, blowing cool air on the redness. Kurapika involuntarily shivered. “I suppose this makes you an angel of death.”

Kurapika’s vision blurred for a second, his world spinning, but he managed to unfreeze himself fast enough to evade suspicion. The words sunk into his guts. He looked up, and the Spiders were approaching him with a congratulatory smile on their face — almost as if welcoming a family member home.

But Kurapika didn’t have a home. Lost it all those years ago to the people standing before him, to the one sitting behind him, kissing his knuckles so tenderly it hurt.

There was nothing he could do, no other route he could take. The anger that burned in his heart had never receded, and the guilt, the shame at spending each night in his sworn enemy’s bed, pressing their naked bodies together — all of them only added coal to the furnace.

He would continue this game of pretend, until he plucked the remaining limbs, one by one, and severed his lover by the head.

**Author's Note:**

> stuff to note:
> 
> 1\. Kurapika killed Uvogin first, but in secret. Same way he killed him in the anime.
> 
> 2\. Kurapika killed Pakunoda next, because her ability was the most dangerous. He pretended to be disinterested in the Genei Ryodan until then. 
> 
> 3\. Hisoka's not dead, just on a date. 
> 
> 4\. 4 as in death. And all the Troupe members that have had that number ended up betraying the Troupe. Kurapika will be the last... probably.


End file.
